Hell’s Garden

FAY

"A

Satan's Brew, Deon?" asks Silva, her generous breast suffocating in a tiny bandeau top.

"You know me too well, beautiful," Deon coos, oozing with charm and gifting her an irresistible, sharp smirk.

Hooves stammer on the floor, and Silva is full-on blushing in the middle of the lounge.

She gathers her plaited hair and, over-stroking it, turns to me. "And for you, Fay?"

"I'll go for aPink Unicorn. Please add morejinnthis time. The situation calls for it." I add some puppy eyes to my request. They're so stingy with the booze here.

"You need a hug, darlin'. That's what you need." To this, Silva trots back to the bar, swishing her tail in Deon's face.

I instantly try catching my giggle, but it bursts against my hand.

Deon's eyes glow, an undecided smirk struggling to stretch below them. "Is she serious?"

"Whoa, my Deon. Are you bitten?"

A rattle later, he hangs his head, nodding his denial from left to right. "No. Ha ha," he says drily. The fool...

"If Silva wasn't hitting on you, then I don't know what that was," I simper, watching her sway her large horse hips from side to side.

"Silva wants the same monster to lie with her every night, but I'm a free spirit," Deon says with a seriousness I'm unaccustomed to finding in him.

This smitten demon switches from cheery to gloomy in a matter of seconds. And as I follow Deon's pensive gaze, I find Silva joking with a waiter.

I'm feeling cocky tonight, so I ask, "What's stopping you?"

"What's stopping me?" Deon jogs his focus back to me. "Tis' for those fairies called Fay; that's what's stopping me." To this, a corner of his lip flies to his ears.

It's hard not to roll my eyes. And as these do a ninety-degree swerve, they land on Silva's periwinkle-varnished hooves.

There's something fascinating about this centaur.

How she navigates between clients' feet, loosened floored bags, and other tipsy clients jerking arms. How her dark hair, forever shiny, is kept in a lovely flowery braid, her mood always so full of sunshine...

The sound of a soft cigarette pack hitting one's palm draws my attention back to Deon. It's one of thoseBeal's Breathswith the red logo everyone recognizes.

My sexy diablo pulls a ciggy out of the packet and asks, "So, Glit, what's the long face for?"

"Please, don't call me that." I grin icily.

This idiot simply sniggers back at me.

Ever since I accidentally showered his face with a ridiculous amount of glitter, he's called me Glit. The situation I was in definitely adds tragedy to the story—Deon was between my thighs, mouthing the satanic alphabet against my clit.

"I can't do it anymore. I'm going to quit one day. It's just a matter of time."

"Time, Fay. It's yours. This decrepit sod... he's just frustrated."

In a snap, Deon ignites his finger. I steady on this finger-born flame, flickering at me, ready to set my world on fire. I mean the world... the worldon fire.

And then I gape like a fish. "Deon, you shouldn't?—"

"Hey, no magic allowed! I'll call the police!" Seems the cyclops mixing cocktails behind the bar was faster than me. He's not even blinking, just one frowning eye, fringed with a lid of scaled gold and bushy lashes.

I never liked cyclopes; they are too stuck up.

While heads turn toward us, every centiliter of blood accumulates at my feet. What if the cyclops does call the police? We're not even on duty—I mean, Deon isn't. Again... My father. I could be on the field with these guys if this binding parental source control wasn't clamped so thoroughly around my life. Talk about having gunpowder on my hands. I can't even get HR to give me a decent letter opener.

Deon turns his head toward the grump, a renegade smirk curling high on his mouth as he raises his badge. "Who's gonna arrest me? Me?!"

Thank my lucky star. Even if the cyclops' dry grumbles scuffle between customers' lively conversations, he turns his back on us, stacking his colorful potions and liquors on the back barrack.

Magic is banned, and Deon knows it. He's going to get into trouble someday...

"Where were we, dove? Ah, yes... Don't take it personally," he muffles against his death stick, concentrating on lighting the thing.

A corner of my eye scans the area, and it seems everything is back to casual chit-chatting. And I exhale. But then, a word queuing at the back of my mind doesn't stick well with me.

"Personally!? It's my father we're talking about. How can it not be personal?" I lean back, eying through Deon's smoke, the neon-pink drink that just landed before me. "I put my bones into my work. Hustling for a promotion. Anything to leave that floor."

I can't guarantee it's from thirst, but I swallow a very generous amount of this dead awakener.

Deon lets out a calming breath. "It's going to be alright."

Alright?! My glass hammers the table.

Meddling with my burning throat, my state is so upset that I harsh a very mean and gruff breath. "No, Deon. He's a tyrant."

"Keep doin' your thing, fairy." He reaches out to me, and I am transfixed by his hand. It's over-veined, black lines of life popping out like frescos.

My heart races at the thought of Deon's stamina. He's an untiring beast, leaving my legs cramping for days... Yes, when Deon wants to spend the night with me, he's literal about it.

And I mean literal.

His soft thumb smooths over my skin, hovering farther up, and I hear my breathing. Does it always sound so loud?

And when Deon squeezes my wrist, my gaze bounces back at him. "My thing?"

"Yes, Fay, your thing." That smirk gradually stretches, so full of sass that my toes scrape against the inside of my shoes.

"Devil!"

"Fairy..." he rasps as he stares at me profoundly, his jet black lips manding against the glass rim.

He's doing it again. He knows I've got a soft spot for him—for his way of looking at me... piercing through my soul, damming me.

I rattle my throat before my body incinerates from his sex appeal and slingshot the conversation around something else. "Any updates on the Central Arc murder?"

"Fay, you know I can't."

"Come on." I blink rapidly, the smoke a real stinger.

"It's... messed up."

"How messed up?"

In between two drags, his gaze roves around the pub, hesitant. Deon then leans forward enough to find my head between his horns. "The state of her wings, Fay... It reminded me of the Orcana War."

My stomach cramps. "What do you mean? It's an orc who did it?"

"No... at least, we don't think so. More like side scavenging."

"Mind your Special Ops jargon. I'm a paper pusher, one down the food chain..."

He sniggers, but then brings his face closer to mine. Taking a cue from this movement, I mirror him instinctively. The whispers from Deon are so faint that I have to concentrate twice as hard. "This is the kind of crime underground organizations could have perpetrated."

"Trafficking?"

"Maybe..."

His phone pings.

And I can't avoid looking at the notification banner that just popped up.

"Monster Speed Dating? What's that?"

"Herg... sorry. That's embarrassing." He flips his phone over, the screen down on the table.

"Why?" My curious boot nudges his leg. "Come on, tell me more."

"I downloaded it last week, but it's a stupid app." Squashing the cigarette butt in the ashtray as if glazing a cake, he begins blowing raspberries.

My heart tilts at his cuteness. "Did a girl leave you in the cold, cold rain?"

"No. It's too serious for me. These lonely saps are only looking for one thing... the one." He scratches the back of his head.

"Deon, you're too cute."

A look of embarrassment crosses his face as he smirks at me. "Listen, I thought it was another of those swipers, like Sparker. Easy in, easy out, you know?"

"Poor tortured soul."

Deon responds well to the word torture and soul—he's a gargoyle, after all. He lowers his chin and grits, "I can't be helped, but I've got some mileage to respect, you see..." Searing his eyes into mine, some bad intentions jive across them. My eyes melt down to his lips as he racks his lower one with teeth full of hunger...

Sniggering like a teenage girl talking about sex for the first time, I push his head back. "Stop that."

Deon chuckles and pushes my hand away, though forgetting to release it. "I haven't even registered, but I keep receiving push notifications. The process is simply too damn long and complicated for me. You have to be approved, Fay!" he comically fusses. "And once the app deems you a worthy long-term partner, you're in, I guess."

My drink bubbles as I choke on it. Deon is far from being any female's dream monster. I mean, he's got the look and touch, but brains and commitment-wise...? Let's just say Tyke is more...

I straighten the nonexistent creases on my lap and push my empty glass to the side. "It's getting late. I should probably go."

"Your place?"

"I'm tired tonight."

"In the alley, then," Deon insists, throwing his head toward the exit door. "Like young horny monsters."

"You're the devil!"

"Sure am."